


I Have Found It

by Siria



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s05e03 Broken Ties, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-28
Updated: 2008-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-03 20:36:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jennifer shoos him out of the infirmary when Ronon finally falls into a fitful doze, tells him to go back to his quarters and get some sleep. John heads for Rodney's quarters instead, feeling too slow and stupid and old for sleep, too keyed-up and too worn-down by the aftermath of adrenaline and heartache.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Have Found It

**Author's Note:**

> For ladylisquill.

Jennifer shoos him out of the infirmary when Ronon finally falls into a fitful doze, tells him to go back to his quarters and get some sleep. John heads for Rodney's quarters instead, feeling too slow and stupid and old for sleep, too keyed-up and too worn-down by the aftermath of adrenaline and heartache. He's got a hankering for one of the microbrew beers that Rodney has smuggled in on the Daedalus, thinks maybe they might watch some ridiculous old B-movie on the projector Rodney's got hooked up to his laptop, expects he'll find rest more easily in Rodney's room than he will in his own.

When he lets himself into Rodney's room, everything's quiet. John toes off his boots at the door; pads past the bed where the dark green sheets are rumpled with late nights and carelessness; lets himself into the bathroom because he can hear the sound of running water. It's not like John spends enough time in his quarters to justify any complaints he might have about his own tiny en suite—containing nothing more than a weird Ancient bidet-cum-toilet, a small walk-in shower—but he's always been a little jealous of Rodney's bathroom. It's large and bright and airy, a room made for relaxation where his own was created to serve nothing more than necessity. One full corner of the room is taken up with a large bathtub, carved from metal and stone—and that tub, in turn, is laden to the brim with millions of scented bubbles and one sleeping astrophysicist, his feet propped up on the edge and a data tablet clutched to his sudsy chest.

Something tells John that that may not be the best way to take care of a piece of equipment that's been made near priceless by the tenuous nature of their supply line back to Earth. One small move on Rodney's part and it will slip from his grip into the soapy, sudsy water, taking all of Rodney's equations with it and making him curse and swear and turn bright pink—which is why when John has the idea of sitting down on the edge of the bath and tickling, very carefully and very gently, at the soles of Rodney's feet, he thinks that's a very good idea indeed.

For someone who spends an awful lot of time running around trying to save a) himself, b) his city, c) two galaxies from a variety of gruesome and drawn-out deaths, it takes way too long for Rodney to wake up. Sure, from the first touch of John's fingertips against his foot, he grunts and snorts and twitches his toes—even gives a hilarious little whimper—but his eyes stay closed, his mouth lax, and a Lincoln-like beard of bubbles dangles from his chin.   
"Rodney," John whispers after a while, drawing out the vowels so that he sounds as eerie and as obnoxious as possible, "Roooodneeeey." Each time, he makes his voice a little louder, lets the edges of his nails scrape lightly against the high arch of Rodney's foot, until finally Rodney's eyes fly open and he sits up with a jerk.

"Toast!" Rodney says loudly, for no apparent reason. His eyes are big and blue and startled, he's very very naked, there are still bubbles clinging to his chin as securely as he's clutching at his laptop, and god help him, stronger men than John couldn't have stopped themselves from laughing at the sight of him.

"_You_," Rodney says, eyes narrowing, his voice echoing like the judgement of the ages. "You—"

He looks to be winding himself up for a good long rant, and much as he usually enjoys them, right now John's not in the mood to be the recipient of a lecture on how lavender bubble bath helps Rodney formulate ground-breaking scientific advancements in the field of, well... science. "Want a beer?" John says, all innocence and waggling eyebrows.

"A beer," Rodney says flatly.

"Yeah, I'm done for the day, thought you might want one too."

While John's speaking, Rodney carefully places the tablet on the shelves behind him—a sure and certain sign of danger—but John perseveres, hides his grin behind a carefully earnest face as he tells Rodney that maybe he needs to do something to _relax_. John lets himself laugh only when Rodney grabs him by the waist and hauls him into the bath; lets himself smile when they're pressed close together, slippery skin and soaked clothes, all elbows and knees and a tangle of loving limbs. Rodney's warm and present and _John's_, with kisses that are constant despite his grumbling, with hands that are busy shaping John's hair into a sudsy mohawk fit to match his own; and John relaxes against him, closes his eyes, let's Rodney kiss him til he knows he's home.


End file.
